


Saucy

by Salmon_Pink



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Community: avengers_tables, Community: comment_fic, F/F, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6346993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Pink/pseuds/Salmon_Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sweetened taste of artificial strawberry and Bobbi's tempting smirk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saucy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Avengers Tables](http://avengers-tables.livejournal.com/), prompt "kitchen", and for [Comment Fic](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com), [prompt](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/667707.html?thread=88908603#t88908603) "Any femslash, new discovery".

Jemma scoops a generous portion of ice cream into a bowl, because she has better manners than to eat it out of the tub, thank you very much. Bobbi, who absolutely _would_ eat out of the tub if Jemma let her, wraps her arms around Jemma from behind, her chin resting on Jemma’s shoulder. 

“We’ve got strawberry sauce in the fridge if you want it,” she offers, kissing distractingly at Jemma’s ear.

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “No, I’m good,” she says, and Bobbi draws back, moving beside Jemma and leaning her hip against the counter.

“You _like_ strawberries,” Bobbi insists, tilting her head. “And you can’t eat vanilla ice cream on its own, that’s boring.”

“There’s nothing boring about _Cornish_ vanilla ice cream,” Jemma sniffs, trying and probably failing to look haughty. “And I do like strawberries, real strawberries. But artificial strawberry tastes wrong.” Especially the cheap stuff, which she knows is what’s in the fridge - honestly, they should never allow Hunter and Fitz to be in charge of the weekly food shopping.

Bobbi just shakes her head, smiling fondly at Jemma. She opens the fridge, snagging the plastic bottle of strawberry sauce. “C’mon, it’s not that bad,” she shrugs.

“It tastes like sugar and plastic,” Jemma complains, and Bobbi laughs and sets the bottle down.

And then she’s pulling her t-shirt up over her head, and Jemma’s mouth falls open. 

“What are you doing?” Jemma hisses, her eyes cutting to the door. “We’re in the _kitchen_. Which is a public area. Which means someone could come in here at any moment!”

Bobbi’s teeth dig into her bottom lip, smirking as she drops her t-shirt to the floor. Her bra is peach with lace stretched over the satin cups, and Jemma feels her face heating up, her breath coming faster. “I guess we’ll have to hope nobody else is in the mood for a midnight snack,” she teases, snapping the cap up on the sauce bottle, and Jemma’s heart skips a beat as Bobbi leans back, smearing a trail of strawberry just beneath her collarbone.

“Give it a try,” Bobbi coaxes, and Jemma knows her eyes must be huge, her hands wringing in front of her.

The door isn’t locked. It’s the kitchen, for goodness sake, it doesn’t even _have_ a lock.

“I’m not licking strawberry sauce off of you in the middle of the kitchen,” she yelps, her voice far too loud, but she already knows it’s a lost cause. Bobbi’s smiling at her like the terrible temptation she knows she is, and Jemma’s willpower is only so strong.

The shiny red sauce really _does_ look good against Bobbi’s skin.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Jemma mutters, throwing one last look at the door, and then she’s moving closer, Bobbi’s fingers settling in her hair. She presses her lips to the sauce, eyes falling shut, and for a moment it tastes exactly the way she knew it would, cheap and too sugary to be close to _real_ strawberries.

But then she gets the aftertaste of Bobbi’s skin, the tiniest burst of salt against her tongue, and it transforms the sauce, makes it more tart and more delicious as Jemma licks her lips. She follows it, lapping up every last drop, and Bobbi sighs, her chest pushing up beneath Jemma’s mouth.

“Not bad, huh?” Bobbi chuckles when Jemma pulls back, and she’s already got the sauce bottle in her hand again. “Want some more?” She upends it across her chest, thin lines of sticky red running down over her cleavage, staining the edge of her bra pink. 

Jemma can feel her mouth watering, and Bobbi winks at her, licking sauce from her thumb.

Mack walks in on them not long after, finding Jemma perched on the countertop, her shirt unbuttoned and Bobbi’s leaning in between her thighs, strawberry sauce and melted vanilla ice cream smeared across their chests. 

He just rolls his eyes and walks straight back out again.

Jemma, of course, is mortified. Or she will be, just as soon as she’s finished enjoying the new discovery that she really, _really_ likes strawberry sauce after all.


End file.
